Insomnia
by eyeslikewildflowers
Summary: After finding Sophia in the barn, Carol is plagued by terrible nightmares. Daryl comforts her.
1. Chapter 1

So this is something that's been brewing in my mind lately, especially during the bullshittery that is season 7. This story has a pretty slow build up but I promise it heats up a LOT in the next chapter. Please let me know if you like it :)

* * *

She was crying again.

Daryl pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and took a deep breath. He rolled onto his back on the floor of the RV and put his hands behind his head like a pillow, staring up at the yellowed ceiling and knowing that, once again, he wouldn't be getting much sleep. The noises Carol was making were small and pitiful, faint whines interspersed with sniffles like an animal caught in a trap. He knew she was sleeping, too. She had cried almost every night in her sleep, every night since they had found Sophia in the barn.

Everyone kept a watchful eye on Carol during the day, but at night they left her alone in the RV. Lori had stayed with her the first few nights, but had eventually gone back to her tent with Rick and Carl. _Giving her space_ , she had said. As little sleep as Daryl knew he was going to get with each of her shuddering breaths thick and deafening in the quiet of the trailer, he had gotten far less sleep at his own little campsite. After a few night's fitful rest that he had mostly spent just staring up at the stars, he had gotten up and began to pace. It had been too early to hunt, the animals in the forest still asleep save for an owl or two hooting forlornly, so he wandered the perimeter of the farm. He had hoped his body would eventually just give out from sheer exhaustion, but instead, on his third time around he found himself at the door of Carol's trailer. He didn't knock, and was glad for it when he cautiously stepped in to find her sleeping form illuminated by the first traces of the early morning sunrise. Salty tear tracks lined her face, but her chest rose and fell evenly, and Daryl had been comforted that, at least for the moment, she was blissful and unaware. A wave of exhaustion had rolled over him and he curled up on the floor for a brief sleep before rising again to hunt, slipping out so quietly he doubted she had known he was there at all.

Daryl quickly took to sleeping in the RV each night, making sure to take first watch while everyone else drifted off then sneaking into her trailer and leaving again before the sun had fully risen. He wasn't exactly sure what compelled him to it; maybe he wanted to protect her like he couldn't protect Sophia, maybe there was no sense in sleeping outside when there was a perfectly good RV instead, maybe he just didn't think she should be alone. At first he would come in so late and leave so early he was sure she didn't notice, but one day he woke up with a pillow under his head and a blanket draped over him that he hadn't brought. Neither of them acknowledged it later on in the day, but Daryl could almost swear she held his gaze a little longer than usual at breakfast, and that the corners of her mouth might have twitched faintly when Lori asked if she had slept alright.

After that, Daryl continued to come in after his watch and would leave before the sun was up, but didn't bother with stealth. It became an unspoken understanding between them: Daryl would shove his blankets and pillows into a corner when he left and then when he came in for the night they would be laid out neatly on the floor for him. It only took a few days of their arrangement for Daryl to realize that most nights, Carol cried. He had been so tired at first that he had slept soundly through it, but was awoken one night to her soft sniffles peppering the silence like faint raindrops on the fibreglass roof. He lay awake, heart thudding in his throat, the guilt of being too late to save Sophia twisting his stomach too painfully to sleep. It crossed his mind to wake her, but her eyes had been so dark and hollow lately he justified to himself that fitful sleep was better than nothing. He drifted in and out of consciousness until morning, when he had once again rolled up his blanket, checked on her, and headed out to hunt.

Her cries were coming louder now. Hollow sobs echoed through the trailer and pierced Daryl's chest like an arrow, over and over with each breath. Sighing, Daryl pulled himself up and rested his head in his hands. This was the worst night yet, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. In a way, he supposed he was punishing himself. Why should he deserve a good night's sleep when Carol's daughter was dead and she would likely never see a good night of rest again?

"No… no," she whimpered in the darkness. Daryl rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, trying to guess how many hours were left until dawn.

Then Carol started to scream. High pitched cries of anguish that reverberated through the thick darkness and made the hairs on his arms stand up. If he thought she sounded like a trapped animal before, she was a trapped, terrified, wounded animal now. He stood up and before he knew what he was doing, he was standing beside her bed. Carol's eyelashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks in the faint light that starkly contrasted with the twist of pain on her face, the tears leaking from her eyes and pooling on the pillow. The blankets were bunched up in her white knuckled fists and her stomach kept contracting like she was being kicked. Daryl awkwardly shifted his weight, desperate to do something, anything, to stop her gut-wrenching keening.

"No, _please_ ," she moaned, bringing one of her hands up from the blankets to grasp her opposite shoulder, nails digging in hard enough to leave a mark. Daryl instinctively reached for her hand and stopped her just short of drawing blood. His heart was pounding and he felt guilty somehow, like he was intruding on her right to grieve in private. But fuck, he couldn't listen to her cry like that for one more minute. She stirred and he froze, but he didn't let go. Instead, he gingerly sat down on her bed and took her hand into his lap. He began lightly stroking her hand in an old, familiar pattern, something that his mother used to do when he was small and had bad dreams before his bad dreams bled over into reality and she couldn't comfort him anymore. He rubbed up and down her knuckles and turned her hand over to trace the lines of her palm, which, to his relief, quieted her a little. His calloused skin was clumsy and awkward and rough against her impossibly small, soft hand, but the way she sighed and turned into him let him know that she was at least half awake and found some small comfort in his gesture.

As her breathing slowed and her chest began to rise and fall evenly again, Daryl stopped his motions and quietly held her hand in his lap. The faint lines of her face, usually so tense and defined, were relaxed and smooth. Daryl noticed, not for the first time, a faint pink scar that just peeked out from the fabric of her tank top under her arm. It was white and lumpy, an old scar, but the ring of cigarette burns surrounding it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He knew the signs of abuse, and the idea of her cowering with her hands over her head while Ed laughed and mocked and burned her sent firebolts of rage up his spine. Looking at her sleeping so sweetly, he had no idea how anyone could ever justify laying a hand on her. She sighed and her mouth curved into a half-smile, satisfying Daryl that she was sleeping peacefully again. He gently placed her hand back down beside her and let his fingertips briefly drag up the back of her wrist as he stood up again. Carol intrigued him. He hadn't known her for long, but he could sense that there was more beneath the surface than the meek, submissive housewife he had first encountered. His search to find Sophia had irrevocably bonded them, and he felt a tug in his chest whenever he thought of her that he chalked up to just being two damaged people coming together over tragedy. As she shifted contentedly onto her back her deep breaths turned into light snores, and Daryl smiled softly. She could saw logs and keep him up all night for all he cared. He could handle that, as long as she wasn't crying.

* * *

"Fuck," Daryl muttered as his knife brushed across the sensitive web of his thumb just enough to draw blood. His hunt that morning had yielded only a few scrawny squirrels, which he was nonetheless diligently cleaning. Hershel had offered him his workshop to clean his kills, but Daryl preferred to be out under the sun in the clean, fresh air. He debated for a moment just wiping his hand and continuing, but decided he ultimately couldn't run the risk of an infection when doctors and hospitals were so non-existent. He shuffled up to the house, cursing his carelessness, and didn't bother to kick off his boots as he made his way to the kitchen. The farmhouse made him uneasy, it was too light and pretty to welcome his dirty, dishevelled presence. Making his way to the kitchen, he was surprised to hear Carol's voice drifting through the hallway as she helped Patricia prep for dinner. Still, the sound of her voice momentarily distracted him from the dull thud in his hand and he stood awkwardly in the doorframe until they noticed him.

"What happened?" Carol asked, immediately noticing the cut on his hand and going to him to inspect it.

"Accident," he mumbled.

"I'll get the antiseptic," Patricia said while Carol ran warm water in the sink. She took his hand and guided it to the stream, gently rinsing the dirt, grime, and blood from his hand. Daryl's throat went dry while her hands deftly worked over his.

"I can -" he stammered.

"I know," she said quietly, but didn't stop. Daryl opened his mouth again to reply but was silenced by Patricia coming back to the kitchen. She dressed his cut expertly, using the smallest amount of antiseptic she could to conserve their meager supply. Hershel called for her and she bustled out of the kitchen, leaving Daryl and Carol alone again.

Carol finished wrapping his hand with a clean strip of gauze, but held his hand in hers for a moment too long.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"Should be the one thanking you," he said in a low, gravelly tone, nodding toward his hand.

Carol just looked up at him with her crystal clear blue eyes and he understood what she meant. The air in his lungs was too thick to breathe, let alone speak, and the softness of her hands on his and her faint clean scent were making his head swim. Sensing his sudden stiffness, she gently let go of his hand and rested hers against his chest briefly, her searching eyes compelling him to look at her again. He met her gaze reluctantly, absurdly afraid that she could read his mind if he looked at her, but her eyes just crinkled slightly and she gave him the first half-smile he had seen from her since Sophia died. He had always reflexively shied away from physical contact, usually associating it with pain, but Carol was slowly giving him a new perspective. Her touch was warm. Comforting. Daryl thought he should say something, but he faltered and instead just swallowed hard and nodded.

"You should be just fine," said Patricia, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

Daryl nodded again and mumbled his thanks, catching Carol's eye and holding her gaze for a moment longer before quickly ducking back out of the kitchen.

The next few nights passed without incident. Carol still cried in her sleep, but sporadically and quietly enough that Daryl was able to get some decent rest. They continued their routine as usual; Carol laying out his bedding for when he came in late and Daryl checking on her before leaving early in the morning. They interacted normally during the day, but now and again he would catch her eye for a little longer than usual or she would casually touch his arm as she sidled past him. After Daryl left a few Cherokee roses on her bed one day he noticed his blanket was freshly washed the next. They continued like that in a sweet, silent dance around each other for days, neither acknowledging anything because they weren't sure _what_ to acknowledge.

* * *

Until the thunderstorm.

Daryl liked thunderstorms. He didn't believe in God, but the cracks and booms reminded him there was something bigger than him out there which strangely brought him a sense of comfort. He liked the idea that nature didn't care if the world was in chaos, it would continue as usual. In a way, he identified with the defiant flashes of lightning streaking across the sky. He would continue in the world like he always had ever since he was a child: hunting, scavenging, and surviving regardless of what was going on around him.

An abrupt noise from Carol wrenched him from his languid state. It was a strangled yell, thick with tears, a sound that he hated he was so familiar with. Her pitiful cries mixed with the thunder and he tried for a few minutes to ignore it, but each sob wrenched him back awake. He stared wide awake at the fibreglass ceiling that he had become well acquainted with and sighed. Daryl clamored to his feet and rubbed his forehead. He didn't know what he could do, but he had a burning, insatiable need to do _something_ for her. Anything.

He awkwardly stood over her once again, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that he was intruding on her grief, too antsy as she tossed and turned back and forth to care about how creepy he felt. He gingerly sat on her bed and caught her hand when she thrashed toward him, stroking the same light patterns as he had before in a desperate attempt to soothe her. She would not be consoled, however, moaning and crying louder and louder with every rumble of thunder. She was mumbling incoherently between cries, and Daryl couldn't take it any longer.

"Carol," he said quietly, squeezing her hand and shaking it slightly. " _Carol_."

Her sobbing only got louder, and in a fit of desperation he grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.

" _Carol_!" he pleaded. "Wake up, dammit!"

Her eyes flew open and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Daryl," she choked out, and his chest twisted at how utterly small and helpless her voice was.

"Was jus' a dream," he mumbled, releasing his vice grip from her shoulders.

Carol swallowed and closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I don't mean to be keeping you up, I -"

"I know," he said. Reflexively, he reached out and brushed her fresh tears from her cheeks. "'S'okay."

Carol nodded faintly. Daryl inhaled deeply and stood up, but was abruptly stopped when she reached out to grip his hand. Her small, slender fingers lightly coiled around his rooted him in place just as firmly as if his feet were encased in concrete, and he turned to look at her. She jerked her head slightly to the side, indicating to the empty space beside her in a silent plea that Daryl understood.

The flimsy bed groaned under his weight as he settled down beside her. They both lay on their backs facing up at the ceiling, not touching but close enough to feel each slight shift the other made. Carol thought she should be mortified that she had woken him up, but she found it hard to stay embarrassed around him for long. He put on airs of being a tough, indestructible fighter, but during his search for Sophia and in the aftermath she found herself catching glimpses of who he was beneath his hard outer shell: sweet, kind, and endlessly forgiving. Forgiving to everyone but himself. Thunder cracked around them almost in perfect sync with the bright flashes of lightning.

"Sophia hated thunderstorms," she heard herself say.

Daryl didn't respond, but she nonetheless knew he was listening. He had an uncanny ability to do what everyone else in the camp was failing miserably at: allowing her to move through her grief at her own pace. He didn't badger her relentlessly about if she had slept or how much she ate or how she was feeling, like Lori, and he didn't fidget uncomfortably when she talked about Sophia like Glenn and Rick. Instead, he quietly listened to her speak or just let her be silent when needed.

"Hated them. Ever since she was a baby. She wouldn't sleep unless I was there with her."

Daryl remained silent, but chanced a glance over at her. She felt his eyes on her silently encouraging her on, and she continued,

"She was a good baby. Hardly ever cried, really, but during storms like this she would scream herself hoarse. I even took her to the doctor once. I thought the change in the air pressure might have been hurting her ears or something, but for whatever reason, she just hated storms."

Daryl nodded, his eyes still on her, and she fell silent. She had said all she wanted to, and he had listened to her without that furrowed look of pity everyone seemed to wear whenever she spoke, just acceptance and understanding in his face. It struck her suddenly that she was the only one left in the world who carried any lasting memory of Sophia. She had no photos, not even a pen and paper to write down all the little details about her she was desperate to remember. Tears clouded her eyes again and she turned away from Daryl onto her side, determined that he wouldn't see her cry again that night. Crying in her sleep was something she couldn't avoid, but crying while awake was a vulnerability she wasn't ready to expose.

Carol bunched up the blankets in her fists and was patting the wetness under her eyes when she felt Daryl shift beside her. Gently, so gently she almost didn't register it at first, he placed a tentative hand on her waist under the blanket. Carol froze for a moment, as equally unaccustomed to physical closeness as he was, but then allowed herself to relax slightly into him. He snaked his hand around her and pulled her close until she was fitted snugly into the crook of his body. His warm breath brushed lightly over the back of her neck, causing the short hairs there to stand up and sent pleasant goosebumps prickling all along her exposed skin. Daryl, mistaking her goosebumps for a chill, briefly broke his grip on her to hitch the blankets up around her shoulder before wrapping his arm back around her.

Carol didn't know the last time she had been held like that. Not as a suffocating apology, not with an ulterior motive, for no reason other than pure, unadulterated closeness and comfort. A faint smile flashed across her lips and, despite the howling storm outside, she quickly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep for the first time in as long as she could remember.

* * *

Daryl hardly saw Carol at all the next day, except for a brief few minutes at dinner during which they barely even had time for eye contact, let alone a conversation. He had woken to hunt early as usual, still wrapped protectively around her, but when it became clear the thunderstorm had subsided he had forced himself to rise and face the day. Carol's soft, relaxed body curled vulnerably into him stirred something deep and hidden within him, but he did his best to ignore it. Her sleepy, petulant sigh when he eased his arm out from under her head was almost enough to coax him to stay, but he nonetheless had slung his crossbow over his shoulder and headed out to face the day.

All day Daryl ran the implications of the previous night through his head, and all day he kept coming up with fuzzy conclusions. Above all, however, he desperately hoped that Carol wouldn't think he had any dishonest intentions in mind. He was content to provide her the comfort she wanted, and that was all.

When he found himself back at her trailer door that night he expected to see his bedding laid out as usual, but stopped short halfway through the doorway when he realized the floor was bare. His face burned and a knot formed in his stomach. Had he misunderstood her? Was this her way of telling him to leave her alone? Daryl swallowed hard and was just turning to go when something caught the corner of his eye. His blanket was folded neatly on the end of her bed and his pillow was propped up next to hers. Daryl let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as he kicked off his boots. Relief flooded his chest and spread to his fingertips as he quietly made his way to the bed. He tried his best to get into bed without disturbing her, but the mattress groaned enough to wake her slightly and she turned to face him while he settled in.

"Sorry," he muttered, maneuvering until he was flat on his back on the edge of the bed, giving her a respectable amount of space.

"Hmm," was Carol's sleepy reply. Her eyes fluttered closed again and he felt her hand lightly brush his in what he took as an accident at first, but then her fingers gently coiled around his and he returned her light squeeze. Giving a slight, sleepy smile that spread heat through his veins, she just barely rested her head on his shoulder and let out a contented sigh.

"G'night," she murmured, so softly he almost didn't catch it.

"Night," he said. Daryl stared at the ceiling, wide awake, trying to make sense of what was happening. Whatever it was, it was something he couldn't bring himself to fight against, but he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around it. He had never even had a close female friend, let alone one who invited him to bed for the sake of… comfort? Cuddling? He'd never even seen anything like that in movies or television without something more happening, which was an idea he wasn't even allowing himself to entertain. Deep down he knew that if she were to make a move he wouldn't push back, but overtly thinking of Carol in that way felt somehow like he was violating her.

Carol's breathing pattern was uneven enough that he knew she was still somewhere between waking and sleeping. He briefly considered saying something, asking her what she needed from him, but his courage faltered as soon as he opened his mouth because she sighed again and wiggled closer. She was pressed flush and warm into his side, her one leg slightly propped up over his, as if she was trying to shield him just as much as he was trying to comfort her. Daryl let out a heavy breath and shook his head slightly. Rather than running through endless possibilities in his mind, he decided to just let it go and instead focus on helping her sleep through the night for as long as she needed.

Daryl gave in to her touch by turning his head into her hair, inhaling her sweet, soapy, impossibly clean scent and allowing himself to finally relax. His last thoughts before drifting off were a vague realization that for as much as she needed him, he was starting to need her right back.

Each day that passed was more or less the same as the last, the hours bleeding into days that bled into weeks. Dale kept diligent track of the calendar, but no one else really cared. The day to day operations at the farm hardly changed, and every night Daryl would crawl into Carol's bed and fall asleep with her head on his chest, or their hands intertwined, or curled protectively around her. There is little else more intimate than sleeping with someone, trusting them enough to allow yourself to become so vulnerable and defenceless, but for all their shared intimacy, they rarely talked much. Carol occasionally shared a brief snippet or story about Sophia just before drifting off, and Daryl sometimes remarked on the day's events when climbing into bed. Other than that they were mostly silent, usually finding words to simply be unnecessary when a gentle squeeze or light touch would suffice.

It didn't take long for Daryl to discover that dragging his fingertips lightly up and down her arms was the quickest way to calm her even if she was still asleep. The screaming nightmares that woke both of them up came fewer and further between, but she still usually woke him once or twice in the night with wet, trembling tears landing on his arms and chest. When she did wake she never said what her nightmare had been about, but from her frantic sleep talking Daryl generally understood. Sophia was the most common theme, but the rare ones involving Ed were the worst.

"Shhh, shhh," Daryl would whisper into her temple when she thrashed and screamed during particularly bad nights. "Jus' a dream, jus' a dream, jus' a dream." He repeated this mantra over and over between telling her she was safe and lightly stroking her arms, shoulders, and back until her sobs became slow, even breaths again.

Once, when Carol's screamed loud enough to wake herself up and he had drawn her close, she, so lightly he almost didn't register it, pressed her lips softly to the hollow of his neck. Daryl's eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply as electricity shot through to his toes from the point where she had kissed him. He realized with a flush that there was no way Carol could have missed the way his body suddenly went rigid, and he was embarrassingly sure she could feel his heartbeat quicken. Carol just snuggled a little closer and breathed a simple phrase:

"Thank you."

Daryl swallowed and nodded, pressing his face into her hair and hoping to absorb some of her sorrow.

"You're…" she murmured as her breathing evened out again, "a good…"

Her sentence trailed off as her breaths came in light snores almost comically fast, and Daryl couldn't help a small smile creeping over his face. He chanced a quick kiss against her forehead, then curled his hand around the back of her neck and held her close until the sun rose again.


	2. Chapter 2

Alright here you go. Hope you like it! Let me know :)

* * *

The next night Carol was unusually restless as Daryl settled into bed. Although they inevitably ended up touching he always let her make the first move after the first night, but that night she seemed unable to get comfortable, tossing and turning before sighing and staring up at the ceiling on her back. Daryl was in the same position, and he glanced over to her to find her brows furrowed and her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Y'alright?" he asked weakly, as it was painfully obvious she wasn't.

Carol took a breath before she spoke.

"I dream about Ed," she said finally.

Daryl nodded. He was still as a statue, afraid that any movement he made would make her close up again. He tried his best to ignore the burning in his chest that implored him to reach for her hand, to touch her cheek, to reassure her in some small way that Ed could never hurt her again.

"I dream about Sophia, too, but Ed… those are the really bad ones."

Daryl nodded again. "Yeah, I know," he said after a pause.

Carol shook her head. "It's always the same. I try to kill him. That's the only thing that changes, how I do it. Sometimes I lock him in the garage with the car running. Sometimes I tie him up and cut him into pieces. Sometimes I hold him underwater. But however I do it, it always switches around and then he's the one doing it to me."

It sounded to Daryl like she was going to say more, but her breath caught in her throat and instead she just stared silently at the ceiling. They stayed like that for a long moment, the weight of her words hanging thick and oppressive in the space between them.

"My old man was a mean bastard," Daryl said. That time, it was his turn to feel her eyes on him. "Used t' beat the holy hell outta me an' my mom. An' Merle, until he started hittin' back. Then he left an' I got it twice as bad for both of us."

Carol's hand found his under the covers and she laced their fingers loosely, almost cautiously together while she waited quietly for him to proceed.

Daryl continued, "Anyway, one day when Merle came back from juvie I packed up an' left with him. Had nightmares for months. But," he said with a slight squeeze to her hand, "They go away. After a while."

Carol was trying to reply, but an uncomfortable lump in her throat prevented words from forming. Instead, she just nodded.

"Carol," he said seriously, "I ain't never gonna hurt ya like that. An' I'm gonna make sure no one else will, either. Ain't nobody deserve that kinda shit," he finished quickly, as if he was trying to cover up the implication of his first statement.

Carol had to fight the absurd urge to laugh out loud, not out of spite but as one would at a small child valiantly declaring they would defend their house from dragons. She had been hardened enough by the world to know there was no way he could guarantee what he said, but the fierce sincerity in his voice managed to soften her a little.

"I know," she managed to say, and even if he couldn't truly promise that no one else would hurt her, she at least believed that _he_ never would.

Daryl broke his hand from hers and turned it over until a long, nasty scar on his forearm was illuminated in the faint moonlight. Carol had seen it before, and had overheard him telling Carl it was from crashing his bike into barbed wire when he was a kid. Even then, however, something in his tone told her that he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"This was when I was gettin' outta there with Merle. Threw a fuckin' axe at us. Usually he was smarter than that, only left marks where ya couldn't see. But this always reminded me that I couldn't go back. An'... an' that I need t' be better than he was."

Carol's heart twisted with empathy and she reached up to trace the length of his scar.

"You already are," she breathed, and sat up suddenly to ghost light, whispering kisses over the path of her finger. Daryl had gone stiff as a board, but he made no move to stop her. Carol looked down at him and the corner of her mouth twitched when she saw how hard he was trying to not meet her eyes.

"Daryl," she breathed, imploring him to look at her. When he did, his eyes were dark and heavy and his breathing deep and laboured, which sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. Before Carol could think twice, she leaned down swiftly and placed a small, chaste kiss to his mouth. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, and she had to force herself to pull back after a moment to gauge his reaction.

Apart from the deep flush in his cheeks, he was just as stiff and stoic as before. His eyes flicked between her eyes and lips, but her heart sank a little. She could kick herself for misreading the situation, afraid that she had ruined the easy, safe bond they shared with her forwardness.

Before she could reprimand herself further, however, Daryl sat up on his elbows and closed the distance between them. His lips were hot and damp on hers, but he held himself back. Carol let out a relieved sigh and melted into him, running her tongue along the seam of his lips until he let her in. They sunk back in unison, Daryl's arm reaching under her neck to cradle her as they leaned sideways into each other.

Carol had always sensed that he didn't have much experience with women, and maybe he didn't, but he moved so fluidly with her it was as if he had always been made for the sole purpose of kissing her. Her mind swam, overwhelmed by every little movement he made, every little nip and suck of her lips, every time his tongue chased hers, and every little ragged breath he took sent a rush of excitement straight to her core. Her hands roamed his shoulders, experimenting with holding his neck, his cheeks, twisting her hands in his hair.

Despite her obvious enthusiasm, his arm that wasn't under her remained stiff and still at his side. Carol broke apart and held his gaze while she reached for his free hand and purposefully settled it on her hips.

"Carol, we…" he began in a low, rasping voice that turned her knees so weak she was grateful they weren't standing up. "You… you don't have to…"

"Don't have to what?" she whispered, descending to the crook of his neck to taste his skin there, layering wet kisses up his jawline before settling just below his ear. Daryl groaned, his fingers digging reflexively into her hips, and it was all he could do to choke out,

"Anythin'. Don't… don't have t' do… anythin'."

Carol paused. She pulled back to level with his face, absently brushing her fingertips over the reddening marks on his neck she had just left with her teeth.

"Do you want me?" she asked in a voice that was more of a sigh than anything.

Daryl briefly squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard.

"Dammit Carol, it ain't that, I just -"

Carol returned to where she had left off under his ear and started to gently nip at its outer curve. Daryl's voice weakened and she smiled when he stifled another groan as she ground her hips into him, pressing their bodies flush with each other.

"See?" he rasped, glancing down. An unmistakable hard lump jutted into her abdomen, betraying the truth of his words.

Carol cupped his face in both her hands and breathed, "I want this, Daryl, and if I didn't I would tell you, okay?"

All the fight went out of him and he let her meet his lips again, both of them sinking back into the kiss with more urgency, their feverish hands running up and down the other's sides and heavy breaths tangling together. Carol leaned until she was fully on her back and he rolled on top of her, kissing and nipping a damp trail over her collarbones that made her clutch his hair and gasp. If she was honest with herself, she had expected the whole thing to be over by that point, and pleasantly surprised didn't begin to cover it.

Daryl ran his hands over the firm planes of her stomach and the soft swells of her breasts, just the right mix of aggression and tenderness to his touch to drive her wild. It had been so long. So long since hands had roamed her body with anything but selfish want, so long since someone had payed attention to her and responded to each of her little sounds and movements, so long since she had been made to feel like anything other than a slab of meat that she was almost embarrassed at her reaction to Daryl's touch: limp and panting and unable to form words other than his name as his lips ran along her neck in a silent apology for things that weren't his fault. Carol whimpered in frustration when he grazed his thumbs under hem of her shirt but made no move to push it up. The gentle, patient Daryl that was making her writhe and grind against him like a teenager in the backseat was such a sharp contrast to the hardened, abrasive fighter he was with the rest of the group that Carol almost couldn't believe they were the same person. She reached down and peeled her tank top off herself in one fluid motion, wasting no time before clawing for his shirt.

Their brief break from each other's lips slowed them down and gave them a chance to catch their breath. Carol spread both her hands over the firm expanse of his chest and mapped each line, each divot, and when she wrapped her hands around him and drew him back in she continued her unabashed cartography of his body, tracing the outlines of the deep, angry scars that riddled his back like a checkerboard. Wet hot heat burned between her legs and she was ready, so ready for him she almost begged for him to take her right then but the words caught in her throat and instead a strangled moan escaped when he pushed her flimsy bra aside and rolled his tongue over her hardened nipple. His warm, wet tongue gliding over her sensitive flesh threatened to undo her right there and she could focus on nothing but the insatiable need to feel him move within her.

"Please," the sound tore from her lips as she fumbled with the button of his pants. "Please, Daryl."

She was so impossibly _soft_ that Daryl wondered if she had a secret bottle of lotion tucked away, or if it was possible that all women had skin made of silk. Not that he would know; his romantic exploits had been few and far between and exclusively while under some kind of influence. The sensations Carol was stirring within him were making it feel like the first time again, an unfamiliar yet exciting clash of bodies and skin and breath and it was all he could do to keep control of himself every time she ground her hips up into his.

"Please… please, Daryl."

* * *

This wasn't how he wanted it to go. He wanted to do it slow and right, to make it good for her, but her whimpering pleas were quickly crumbling his resolve. When she had worked his pants all the way down and coiled her warm, soft hand firmly around his hard length that was already glistening with precum, the air rushed from his lungs in a sharp hiss and he gave in completely. Slow and sweet would have to wait.

Daryl yanked her pants down with a firm tug that made her gasp in surprise, and he shuddered into her shoulder when he realized she was already soaked. He stroked his fingers up and down her slit and she positively _mewled_ into his lips, tangling her hands in his hair and fiercely bucking up against him. Daryl truly didn't have any technique in mind, he just did his best to respond to her sounds, and, from the way she was panting and dragging her nails along his scalp, he was doing something right.

Carol bit and sucked at his lips and neck as she reached down to stroke him again. She pulled back to look at him and gently touched his hand to stop him, and when he met her eyes he understood. With her guidance he lined himself up at her entrance, both of their breaths coming low and ragged as he raked his eyes over her face and gave her one last chance to back out. Instead, however, she cupped his cheek with one hand and urged him forward with her other wrapped around his waist. Their bodies came together with a mutual gasp, and it was all Daryl could do to hold on while he slowly let her adjust to him. Her slick walls gripped him tighter than he could have even imagined, and he had to pause for a minute so it didn't end before it had really started.

Carol's breaths were quick and low against his ear while he just barely moved within her, each experimental thrust of his hips raising the pitch in her voice. He thought about walkers, Merle, his father, anything he could to distract himself from the intoxicating, overwhelming sensation and the soft moans she was breathing into his skin. Carol hitched her legs up around his hips and pressed into his thighs with her heels, urging him deeper, and the sound she made when he gave her a harder thrust caused stars to explode behind his eyes.

"Are you…" he managed to gasp, but she cut him off before he could finish asking if she was okay.

"Yes, Daryl, yes," she whimpered, assuaging all of his concern. "Please… please…."

Daryl screwed up his eyes and buried his face in her neck as he sped up his pace. He had a vague thought that someone might hear them, but she was clenching him so tightly and moaning so sweetly he couldn't bring himself to care. She raked her nails up and down his back, kissing and nipping all over his shoulders and neck, and he felt a familiar tightness deep within him that let him know he was close. He snapped his hips against her in earnest, knowing that if he couldn't last he at least wanted to hear her cries of pleasure reverberate into his skin for as long as he could. He desperately hoped he would have another chance with her to take it slowly, but her hot breath and intoxicating scent and each little whimper she made was too much to handle and he spilled into her with a mighty groan, his vision going completely white as her name tumbled from his lips one final time. He jerked and trembled for a minute afterwards, trying to catch his breath, while she pressed lazy, open mouthed kisses to his neck. Once he had calmed down a little, heat flooded to his face and he turned his head away from her, too embarrassed at finishing so quickly to look at her. To his relief, however, Carol just lightly dragged her fingertips up and down his back, holding him close and humming contentedly.

* * *

Carol had expected him to roll off her with a grunt and immediately fall asleep. She hadn't anticipated that he would instead lay limp and spent on top of her, yielding into her arms, their sweat mingling and cooling together in the afterglow. She relished in his vulnerability; in his naked, sleepy state he felt more like a small child curled in her arms than a man who had just shown her what it felt like to make love.

Her hands roamed up from his goosebumped back to run through his hair, dragging her nails across his scalp just hard enough to elicit a tiny shiver from him. He was embarrassed, she could tell, and she searched her exhausted mind for a way to express to him that those few minutes had been far and away the best she'd ever had.

"Daryl?" she said, her shaky voice thick and heavy in the quiet darkness. When he didn't reply, she brushed the damp hair back from her forehead and tilted his head back to look at her.

"Daryl," she said again, more seriously, and he reluctantly met her eyes. "Thank you," she breathed into his lips.

"You're always thankin' me," he mumbled, breaking from her lip to settle his head on her chest.

Carol wrapped both arms around his head and giggled slightly. Daryl went stiff for a minute, then relaxed and let out a little chuckle of his own.

"M'sorry I… I didn't…" he began, but Carol shushed him.

"I don't think I've ever felt so good. And anyway…" she said quietly, tracing the outline of his ear delicately with her little finger, "Practice makes perfect."

Daryl glanced up at her with squinted eyes and then abruptly snorted into her shoulder. Slowly, he eased himself out of her, both inhaling sharply as he did, and he rolled onto his side, still facing her, and pulled her into his chest.

"Ya wanna keep… practicin', do ya?" he asked cautiously.

Carol giggled again and nodded. She didn't know what the next day would bring or if they would even be alive by the end of the week, but she knew she wanted him for as long as she could have him. His hand slowly moved up from around her back to run through her short hair, and she was pleasantly surprised to feel him trail even lower still, stopping to lightly massage her breasts before settling on the firm expanse of her lower stomach. Daryl softly kissed the top of her head and she burrowed into him with a sigh, raising her leg slightly to slip comfortably between his.

Daryl swiftly took advantage of her adjustment, trailing his fingers below her navel slowly enough that she could stop him if she wanted, but his motions had lit a fire that burned low in her belly when she realized where he was heading. His fingers parted her slick folds, still wet from the both of them, and began a slow, lazy, exploratory stroking motion. Carol's breath hitched and her hips involuntarily arched into him, her body begging for what her lips couldn't. When his fingers ghosted over her hard little nub she whimpered his name and pleaded with him not to stop, crashing her lips into his with renewed ferocity until she couldn't focus on kissing him any longer. When her lips went slack and her breaths started coming low and strangled, Daryl maintained the rhythm with his fingers and moved his lips to brush over her nose, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, her browbone, her temple, until she was writhing and panting below him.

Her whole body was ablaze, she was sensitive to every little flick of his fingers, and she knew she was right on the edge but frustratingly couldn't push herself over it.

"Good?" he murmured into her temple.

Carol made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, grinding her hips into his hand and grasping at the back of his neck with one hand and the pillowcase with the other. All the air escaped from her lungs when he took her cue and sped up just enough to finally tip her over the edge. Carol's mind went blank and her mouth opened in a silent cry, her back arching right off the bed as her lower abdomen muscles clenched and spasmed wildly. Wave after wave after wave of sheer bliss crashed over her, and a slow, guttural tone escaped from her lips as she slowly managed to come back down.

Carol reached down abruptly to stop his hand and she let out a contented little sigh, her cheeks burning from equal parts pleasure and embarrassment. She didn't know the last time she came like that, even with her vibrator. Little aftershocks kept making her legs twitch and made it hard to catch her breath, so she turned into his chest and melted when his arms came up to wrap around her tight.

* * *

They lay silently together for what could have been minutes or hours, just soaking up each other's warmth as their heartbeats slowed to a regular rhythm. Neither spoke, having said all they needed to with their bodies already. Carol's arms were tucked firmly around Daryl's torso, and he lulled her into a sleepy state by running his fingertips over her naked shoulders and back. As Daryl held the beautiful, sleepy, satisfied woman in his arms he wondered at how, in the midst of such chaotic and tragic circumstances, he could have possibly gotten so lucky. Maybe Merle and his father were wrong, after all. Maybe he did deserve a little bit of happiness.

Carol's heavy breaths turned into light snores while nestled into the hollow of his neck, a sound he was growing fond of. Snoring meant she was sleeping soundly, that she wasn't crying. Snoring meant that she felt relaxed and safe. Daryl pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned his head to rest on hers, finally letting himself drift off feeling lighter and happier than he could ever remember.

That night, Carol slept soundly until morning.


End file.
